


Catch a Kaiju By the Tail

by Enfilade



Series: On My Dark and Lonely Side [11]
Category: The Transformers (IDW Generation One)
Genre: Alcohol, M/M, Seduction
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-01-22
Updated: 2020-01-22
Packaged: 2021-02-27 10:08:27
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,369
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22355365
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Enfilade/pseuds/Enfilade
Summary: Tarn tries to seduce his new field marshal, only to discover he's maybe bitten off more than he can chew.
Relationships: Deathsaurus/Tarn
Series: On My Dark and Lonely Side [11]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/339172
Comments: 24
Kudos: 135





	Catch a Kaiju By the Tail

Even a mechanism devoted to his work could have an off day. 

Tarn slouched at his desk, scrolling through page after page of notifications. He’d been ignoring them for weeks. First, he’d experienced—understandable—difficulties upon hearing of Megatron’s defection. Then, his priority had been assembling a new plan of action. The plan he’d created required a long trip to the Galactic Rim to talk to Deathsaurus. Finally, having managed to ally the DJD with Deathsaurus and his crew, of course their first order of business would be a strategy for dealing with Megatron. 

During that time, Tarn had been neglecting his other duties. 

Now it was time for catch-up. The Warworld needed to rendezvous with Deathsaurus’s regular suppliers, and then raid some Galactic Council outposts for anything they needed that they hadn’t been able to buy. Deathsaurus had assured Tarn that he and his crew could handle these matters themselves. Tarn believed him. Deathsaurus and his crew had been surviving that way for almost a million years. 

With Deathsaurus taking care of the supply issues, Tarn had turned his attention to cleaning his own house. He’d begun with long-overdue performance reviews for his DJD. Then he’d contacted his intelligence sources and ordered them to focus their activities on Megatron and the _Lost Light_. Now he was sorting through the large backlog of messages in the DJD’s official contact account. It was dreadfully dull work. Tarn’s spark might be devoted to his duty, but his mind rebelled, wandering into daydream. 

And what a daydream it summoned. 

Tarn had been doing rather fantastical things with his new field marshal, Deathsaurus. He’d be inclined to dismiss these thoughts as preposterous, except for the fact that they were _memories_. Those memories inspired all sorts of creative possibilities for future trysts. Tarn’s lips curved into a smile under his mask. 

_Get this work done, and you can go play with your new toy._

There was nothing quite like an incentive. Tarn resumed his focus and sorted through another four pages of messages. He was very much looking forward to getting Deathsaurus in his berth. Or getting Deathsaurus on his knees. 

Tarn bit his lip when he realized his fantasies were threatening to run away with him again. 

It wouldn’t hurt to start the game a little early. Seduction was a dance, after all. 

Tarn picked up his comm link and sent Deathsaurus a text message. 

_I hope the raid is proceeding as you wished. Bring me back something nice._

There. Deathsaurus would not let thoughts of a post-combat reward distract him from the operation. He was too professional for that. But those thoughts would linger in the back of his mind during any moments of down time. He would wonder, and he would tremble, and perhaps his engine would start to run hot, and he would re-read the message and try to decipher whether it was Tarn’s insinuation or his own imagination that put thoughts of interface into his mind. Deathsaurus would be anxious and revved up before he even reported to Tarn’s office. 

And Tarn had the rest of the day to finish his work…and savour thoughts of what he’d like to do to Deathsaurus. 

_How should I play this seduction?_

Deathsaurus was not like Tarn’s usual playmates. Honestly, Tarn would never have thought that Deathsaurus might be his type—when he’d come to recruit Deathsaurus to his cause, interface had been the last thing on his mind. He’d wanted Deathsaurus for his army and his ability to command in the field; the only manipulation he’d intended had been to offer to remove the Warworld crew from his List if they helped him bring down Megatron. Never mind that the List had only one name on it these days. 

Tarn’s previous lovers had been pretty little things. Sleek speedsters and graceful jets. They’d looked so cute perched on Tarn’s lap. And they were typically elegant and well-mannered, polite, nicely polished… 

Deathsaurus had wings, and there the similarities ended. Deathsaurus was really too big to sit on a lap, and he definitely wasn’t a showpiece. If Tarn tried to get Deathsaurus to sit pretty, Tarn knew he’d probably end up knocked flat on his back, with a big predator sprawled all over his chest, pinning him down, eyeing him hungrily… 

Tarn felt his fuel pump pounding. _Why_? 

He quickly changed his thoughts. What else did his lovers have in common? Tarn admired clever mechs. He liked fragging someone who could hold his own in a conversation. Someone who would make the seduction challenging, and therefore, fun. Tarn enjoyed outwitting and outmaneuvering his intelligent, attractive pets. 

They lowered their gazes, ashamed of their own bodies’ reactions, and they begged so prettily for Tarn’s favour. Or his mercy. Tarn was most pleased when his pets could not determine whether a good hard fragging was merciful or not. 

Tarn sighed. He already knew he’d never get that out of Deathsaurus. The mech had little tact and even less shame. How could Tarn feel so excited at the thought of such a person? 

Tarn was giving serious consideration to the thought that his reaction to Megatron’s behaviour had led Tarn to start acting out of character, when he heard a knock at his door. 

It surprised him. He had thought that Nickel was cleaning Helex’s teeth, Kaon and Tesarus were upgrading the Peaceful Tyranny’s computer systems, and Vos was walking the Pet. None of his team should be disturbing him here. 

“Come in,” Tarn said as he signaled the door to open. 

Deathsaurus bounded through the doorway, carrying a box tight against his chest, heedless of the bent feathers on his right wing or the bubbling singe mark across his left shoulder. He skidded to a stop in front of Tarn and held out the box. “Here.” All four optics were wide and bright, sparkling at Tarn as though Deathsaurus was happy to see him. 

“What’s this?” Tarn asked. 

“Engex.” Deathsaurus cracked the lid open. 

Tarn stared down at the box stuffed full of mismatched bottles. “You got this from the Galactic Council?” 

“They had Ammonite mercenaries.” Deathsaurus beamed. “It was theirs.” 

Tarn spluttered. “What am I supposed to do with…” 

Deathsaurus raised his wings in front of his face, but then forced them back with noticeable effort. “You said to bring you something nice. I don’t know what kind is _nice_ , so I grabbed one of everything.” 

Tarn stared down into the box. So much for his sexual innuendo. Yet he couldn’t bring himself to feel too badly about it. It was rather sweet for Deathsaurus to bring him back a gift, and definitely conscientious, the way Deathsaurus had covered for his lack of knowledge. 

“Perhaps you could share a glass with me tonight,” Tarn suggested. 

_There. Seduction back on track._

“That’d be fun,” Deathsaurus said with a smile. He peered over Tarn’s shoulder. “Are you doing something urgent right now?” 

Right. Deathsaurus was not Tarn’s typical paramour. 

Tarn had agreed to an _alliance of equals_ , but surely Deathsaurus would not think that a former outlaw on the List, and the Commander of the DJD, now the self-declared and unopposed Decepticon Emperor, could ever truly be equals. That had been Tarn’s mistake. Deathsaurus took the word _equals_ very literally. And, as Tarn’s _equal_ , he had no qualms about doing things that no subordinate would ever dare to do. 

Like question Tarn’s current activities. 

“I’m working,” Tarn said, a little stiffly. Did he need to remind Deathsaurus that his work was important? 

“You can’t take a break?” Deathsaurus did not try to hide his dismay. 

“And do what?” Tarn asked impatiently. 

Deathsaurus flashed a hungry grin. “I worked hard today,” he whispered, his voice a low growl. He stalked towards Tarn with a predator’s grace. All four optics locked on Tarn as Deathsaurus leaned forward, looming over the seated DJD commander. He lowered his lips to Tarn’s audio. “I need to….blow off steam.” Deathsaurus punctuated this statement with a nip to Tarn’s neck. 

Tarn jumped, shocked. 

Deathsaurus’s tongue swept over the tender spot, soothing it, and somehow shocking Tarn even more deeply. 

“What are you…” 

“Help me out?” Deathsaurus whispered. 

He did not beg prettily at all. His question sounded far more like a _demand_. 

Tarn’s engine revved. 

This wasn’t right at all. Tarn stood up quickly, preparing to put Deathsaurus back in his place. 

Deathsaurus pounced. 

Tarn found himself bracing himself on his desk with both arms, Deathsaurus’s weight heavy on his back, Deathsaurus’s hands roaming the biolights on Tarn’s chest. Deathsaurus’s leg came between Tarn’s thighs and shoved at them, forcing Tarn to spread his legs wider in order to steady himself. Deathsaurus chuckled in Tarn’s audio and slid his left hand down Tarn’s torso, right to… 

Tarn gasped when Deathsaurus opened his valve panel. 

“Deathsaurus!” Tarn snapped. 

Deathsaurus withdrew, swiftly and totally. Tarn hard him step back a pace, and more. The DJD commander shivered as cold air chilled his back. His cheeks heated under his mask as he felt a rivulet of moisture trickle from his wet valve, slowly sliding down his inner thigh. 

Tarn disguised his embarrassment as irritation. He glowered at Deathsaurus. 

Deathsaurus stood watching him with a look of naked disappointment. “No?” Deathsaurus said sadly. 

Tarn felt his spark wrench. 

“Not _no_ ,” Tarn stammered. “It’s just that… _I’m_ supposed to be seducing _you_.” 

“Seducing?” Tarn swore he could hear Deathsaurus’s processor whir as he parsed a definition. “Like tricking me into the berth?” 

“ _Tricking_ is such an ugly word. I prefer _charming_ you into the berth.” 

Deathsaurus looked at him blankly. “But you already did that.” 

Was Deathsaurus referring to a past encounter? “Not _today_ ,” Tarn said, and then he wondered what it might mean for this relationship, if Deathsaurus did not have to be coaxed into reprisals of their previous encounters. Tarn’s previous pets had needed to be cajoled over and over again. They had to be tempted to place their desire above their better natures. Their lust required _maintenance_ , and that maintenance was hard work. 

“Yes,” Deathsaurus insisted. “You sent me that message. To come by with something nice. And I wondered if _something nice_ meant a gift or…” He shifted his weight. “You know. Something else.” His hand drifted to his spike panel and his optics flickered. “Does that euphemism work? Do you know what I mean?” 

Tarn sighed. “Yes, I know what you mean.” 

At least Deathsaurus hadn’t said _my spike_. Evidently the beast could learn some manners after all. 

“Well?” 

Tarn bit his lip under his mask. Actually yes, come to think of it, he did rather want Deathsaurus’s spike. He’d thought he wanted Deathsaurus’s valve but the warlord’s spike would feel very good indeed. Tarn’s own valve ached with anticipation. 

“Well, what,” he asked weakly, trying to stop his knee joints from trembling. His frame seemed to think falling to his knees and begging would be an appropriate response to his current level of arousal, and it was getting hard for Tarn to remember how undignified such a thing would be. 

“Well, what kind of _something nice_ did you intend for me to provide?” He sniffed, as though he could smell Tarn’s arousal. Tarn realized he probably could. 

Tarn’s engine revved. Loudly. 

Deathsaurus definitely heard that, and Tarn had automatically started wracking his brain for a polite excuse when he realized that Deathsaurus’s obvious interest in a sexual encounter was maybe not such a bad thing. 

_Just admit you want him. He obviously wants you._

Tarn looked at his field marshal again. Deathsaurus was too big and solid to be considered _pretty_ by Vosian standards, and his animalistic features could never be called _handsome_ , but he was striking nonetheless, a lethal cocktail of raw power and feral grace. And instead of being ashamed by his obvious lust, and struggling ineffectually to hide it as good manners demanded, Deathsaurus set all four optics loose to drink in Tarn’s frame. They glowed a hungry ruby, as though Deathsaurus liked what he saw. 

Tarn’s engine revved again. 

Tarn was not used to being _desired_ like this. To being the target of someone else’s pursuit. He felt tongue-tied, anxious. It was unseemly. It wasn’t done. What kind of maniac ever wanted to see the leader of the DJD? 

But his frame wanted so badly to capitulate to its desires. Tarn knew that any second his self-control would shatter and he’d end up bent over his own desk. 

Fortune preserve him, but he found himself looking forward to it. 

“Tarn?” Deathsaurus urged. 

“Come on, then.” Tarn thought he’d given in, but Deathsaurus still hesitated. “Don’t toy with me,” Tarn warned. 

“You _letting_ me isn’t the same as you _wanting_ me,” Deathsaurus protested. 

Tarn wasn’t sure what to make of that. “I’m well aware that your _horrifically_ sensitive sensor suite can probably hear my fuel pump, see the heat rising from my frame, and smell…” Tarn broke off. It was far too crude to say out loud what he thought Deathsaurus could smell. 

“Well, yes,” Deathsaurus admitted, “but you’ve still got a functional mind that might object.” 

Tarn’s whole frame trembled with desperate anticipation even as his mind caused his face to flush with heat at the thought of speaking such blunt words out loud. Deathsaurus would have been excellent at games of torment, but Tarn was certain that Deathsaurus’s words were completely earnest. 

Tarn was going to have to say it. 

“I want you,” Tarn whispered. 

Deathsaurus beamed. A broad, even, warm smile. Handsome, despite his prominent fangs and sharp teeth. 

He swept forward, guided Tarn onto his back on the desk, opened his panel, and mounted Tarn in one smooth thrust. 

This whole relationship was out of character for Tarn, but Tarn didn’t care any more. The interface was good as always, but Deathsaurus’s smile was better. 

_He’s happy to see me._

_He wants me._

Tarn leaned back and vowed to re-evaluate what kind of mech was _his type._ He’d never have expected to find himself embroiled in a torrid affair with the likes of Deathsaurus, but all in all, Tarn couldn’t bring himself to feel too badly about the way their alliance had worked out. 


End file.
